


The Things We Said

by incandescent_fervor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescent_fervor/pseuds/incandescent_fervor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we say things we don't mean and sometimes we do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wargh this is my first try! Hope you like it so far. More to come!

John had been blankly staring at the tv screen for the past 3 hours. Image after image flitted past his eyes but he absorbed none of it. It was raining outside. The rain pattered against the glass in a dull thrum. To John it was the loudest noise he’d ever heard. His ears were numb with the roar of it.

The flat was otherwise silent and unmoving. Sherlock had left in a flurry of coat and scarf, shouting into his phone. He hadn’t asked John to join him. He hadn’t even looked John’s way, or shouted up the stairs for him to hurry up. 

John had been trying to convince himself that it didn’t bother him. And most of all, he was trying to convince himself Sherlock hadn’t done it because of their fight earlier that week.

It started like most of their fights. You know the, ‘That better not be a decomposing arm in the bathtub, Sherlock!’ or 'Jesus Sherlock really? In the cupboard where I keep my good mug?' 

-

Sherlock was poised as ever on his kitchen stool examining something under the microscope. John had tripped on a bag haphazardly tossed on the kitchen floor. He picked up the bag by one end and out spilled several shrunken heads. He recoiled, the hot tea in his mug sloshing onto his hand. He cursed and slammed his mug down on the kitchen counter.

'Mind those.’ Sherlock dead panned not lifting his gaze.

John snapped. 'You know what. No. How about YOU stop leaving these things all over the flat. I’m sick of this.’ He waved his hand furiously in the air.

'Come off it John, you couldn’t live without this’ Sherlock mimicked his hand flail. He chuckled into his microscope.

'You know what? Get stuffed. I could.’ John snatched his mug from the counter and stormed into his room to sulk.

-

He had ignored Sherlock for two days. It didn’t seem to even bother Sherlock. He went about his usual, laying on the couch and tinkering in the kitchen.

But today the soft chiming of Sherlock’s phone somewhere in the flat interrupted the dense silence. Sherlock slid off his stool and wandered towards his room. His blue robe hanging low on his shoulders revealing pale white skin. John looked away. 

He was curious though, no one ever really called Sherlock. Anyone with his number knew better. That’s when the shouting and running and leaving John behind happened.

John rubbed his hands over his face and sighed heavily. He hated when Sherlock was right. 

The sound of dripping in the doorway broke his train of thought. He jumped. Sherlock was standing in the doorway. Soaked to the bone. His thick curls glued to his face.

'Jesus Sherlock I almost had a heart attack.’

Sherlock blinked slowly and began to peel his coat off. His scarf was missing. 

John squinted. 'You alright?’

'Mmm’ Sherlock hummed as he slowly walked towards their bathroom. 

John stood and followed Sherlock into their dimly lit hallway. Something was wrong. His eyes roamed over Sherlock’s frame. He was wearing a deep blue button down shirt. It was soaked and clung to Sherlock’s body for dear life. John swallowed hard as his eyes travelled up towards his collar, it looked discolored. 

'I’m fine.’ Sherlock turned in the doorway of the washroom blocking John from following him further.

John scoffed and pushed Sherlock into the bathroom. He needed to see Sherlock in better light. He flicked the light on, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered, he looked dazed.

John felt rage surge through him, 'Goddamit are you high?’

'What? NO. I just want to take a shower.' 

John reached up and rubbed Sherlock’s collar between his fingers. They came away stained red. Sherlock swatted at John’s hand but missed, merely clipping his forearm.

John went to reach towards the back of Sherlock’s head, above the predominant stain on his shirt collar.

Sherlock managed to grab John’s wrist. 'Stop it.’

They wrestled with each other until John rushed Sherlock into the far wall. Sherlock let out a choked noise and released John’s wrists. He sagged forward, his forehead landing on John’s shoulder. The metallic scent of blood filled John’s nostrils and Sherlock softly panting for air filled his ears.

'Sit down Sherlock, let me see’ He said quietly into Sherlock's ear. Sherlock stood there hunched over for a few moments before finally sliding down the wall.

John leaned over Sherlock, light fingers parting hair and gently searching out the damage he knew was there. He grimaced as he revealed the oozing gash. 

'Doesn’t appear to need stitches. I’m patching this up and you are going to go straight to bed.’ John bent down and opened the cabinet under their sink to pull out some supplies.

'I have work’ Sherlock mumbled.

'No, what you have is a gash on your head.’ Sherlock didn’t respond. 'Are you going to tell me how you got that?’

John turned back to Sherlock when he was greeted with more silence. Sherlock was unconscious. His head lolled forward, his long legs sprawled out and hands resting at his sides.

'Dammit’ John sighed heavily.


	2. He's like ice

He dragged Sherlock to the edge of the bathtub and wedged his thin frame between his legs as he sat down on the lip of the tub. Sherlock’s body fell forwards and John slung an arm around his chest and pulled Sherlock backwards. Sherlock let out an abrupt gasp and grabbed for Johns arm.

  
“Jesus! Relax it’s just me mate.” John said shaking Sherlock’s hand off so he could reach for the first aid kit he had laid out on the tub’s ledge.

  
Sherlock swiped his hand at the trickle of blood making its way down his neck, his hand came away red and he grimaced. “John…” he rasped.

  
“Shush lean forward I have to clean up this mess and I don’t want blood on my jumper.” John nudged gently at Sherlock’s nape, tilting his head forward. Sherlock grunted and gritted his teeth as John started to mop at the back of his head with gauze.

  
John finished patching up the cut on Sherlock’s head with minimum fussing from Sherlock.

  
“Alright tilt your head up,” John instructed grabbing his penlight from the kit, he passed it over Sherlock’s eyes. “Good, alright into bed.”

  
“I want to shower,” Sherlock said. John could feel him shivering, still nestled between his legs. His hand absentmindedly gripping John’s ankle. When did that happen?

  
John stood up swiftly, clearing his throat. “Not with a bandage on your head, you need rest, you can shower later.” Sherlock grumbled and stood shakily.

  
John made his way out of the bathroom. He hesitated a moment before swinging back around the corner and narrowing his eyes, “don’t let me hear a shower running.”

  
Sherlock scoffed, already halfway through unbuttoning his dress shirt, “Yes Mum.”

 

John glared and stormed away, “Prick.”

  
*

  
John was surprised when he actually found Sherlock sitting in pajama bottoms on his bed.

  
Sherlock eyed him stoically.

  
“Tea and paracetamol.” John said placing both on Sherlock’s nightstand.

  
“Hmm, thought I was a prick?” Sherlock said, tone bored and distant.

  
“Oh don’t worry, you are.” John replied back sharply.

  
“I see you’re not over your outburst from two days ago.” Sherlock muttered.

  
“MY OUTBU-“ John stopped, taking a breath. “I’m not being baited by you, I’m mad enough already. Just- would you put a shirt on you shivering idiot.”

  
Sherlock stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, he got up slowly before immediately sitting back down.

  
‘What?” John said.

  
“Nothing.” Sherlock said as he grabbed the pill off the table and swallowed it dry.

  
“You’re dizzy.” John stated.

  
“No.” Sherlock said stiffly.

  
“You are,” John walked over to Sherlock’s dresser and began rummaging for a shirt.

  
“You’re upset that I didn’t bring you along.” Sherlock said deflecting.

  
John stayed silent as he pulled a shirt out. Grinding his teeth, willing himself not to get into another argument.

  
“Could have just come along, no need to sulk about it. Although I suppose if, as you say, it doesn’t interest you anymore then-oof” John threw the shirt at Sherlock's face.

  
“Goodnight.” John said icily exiting the room quickly.


	3. He's like fire

Sherlock woke up slowly to the feeling of cool hands pressing to his forehead and carding through his sweaty hair.

“What?” Sherlock croaked. His brain was foggy and he felt overheated.

“Shh, you have a fever. Go back to sleep.” John murmured pushing stray hairs back from Sherlock's forehead.

Sherlock furrowed his brow but closed his eyes, the light was hurting them anyways.

He let out a groan as a cold cloth was wiped across his face and neck.

"John-"

"Hush,"

"S'too hot," he mumbled.

"Go to sleep," John huffed.

"Yergoing-"

"Oh shut up and let me take care of you, bloody idiot."

Sherlock hummed as he felt dull nails gently scraping at his scalp again and let himself be pulled back into sleep.

*

Sherlock woke with a start, sitting upright in bed quickly and immediately regretting it.

He buried his head in his hands, pressing his palms hard into his firmly shut eyes. Once the dizziness subsided he turned to squint at his bedside clock. It was 6am. John would be asleep, perfect time to shower and not get badgered for it. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and pushed his mop of hair back.

He paused, raking his fingers through his hair again, wondering if it was just a dream. Had John been running his fingers so gently through his hair? He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He shook his head and stood up, there was no way it was real. Definitely a dream.

His phone buzzed on his night table and he quickly opened it to read 13 missed messages. Rolling his eyes he quickly started typing as he made his way to the shower.

*

John woke up to the sound of a mug being set down too hard on the coffee table and the tv being turned up. He had fallen asleep on the couch again. He squinted up at Sherlock who was still staring at his phone and hovering over the tv as the news blared on about a set of abduction that had the city on high alert.

Six people in four days and no clues. Of course Sherlock was already looking into it. Or at least John assumed he was, since he was being left out of whatever Sherlock was running around doing. John looked down at the mug as he sat up slowly, taking note of the blanket over him that he definitely didn’t fall asleep with last night.

“Lestrade is sure he’s found a clue at the last abduction site. Wants us to have a look.” Sherlock said not looking up from his phone.

“Us.” John said flatly reaching for the mug. He took a sniff, coffee. John set it back down, looking up at Sherlock just as he looked away.

“Yes well, I supposed me then really,” he said putting his phone down, picking up the coffee and taking a huge gulp of it. He turned and shut off the tv.

“Probably won’t be interesting anyways,” he strolled into the kitchen, taking another gulp of coffee before tossing the rest in the sink. “Rarely is.”

“Of course in this case the clue is a mural made with blood so that’s interesting,” Sherlock explained pulling his coat on.

“Only you would find that interesting,” John said turning the tv back on.

“Only me.” Sherlock smiled, before rushing down the stairs at the sound of a horn beeping, no doubt from the cab waiting to pick him up outside.

John looked down at the coffee table as Sherlock’s phone buzzed with a message. He glared at it.

* 

Sherlock got into the back of the cab and made a show of looking for the address that he had ‘written down on a paper, just give me a second’ to stall for time. He gave John a blanket, check. Made him coffee, check. Left tantalizing information, check. Left his phone behind, check.

As if right on time he heard the tapping on the car window, he did his best to suppress his smirk and went to open the cab door. But it wouldn’t budge. He looked up at John, his palm firmly against the door keeping it closed, this was not a part of the plan. John motioned for him to roll down the window.

Sherlock rolled down the window and before he could say anything John tossed his phone into his lap.

“I don’t even drink coffee, you should know that by now. At least I thought you would.” John said before walking back into the flat and slamming the door.

Sherlock swallowed hard. That backfired spectacularly.

“Sir?” the cabby asked starting to look annoyed.

“Amwell and Margery,” he said rolling up the window and slumping back into his seat to answer more of Lestrade’s annoying texts.

*

John stormed up the stairs barely missing a startled Mrs. Hudson who came out to see what all the fuss was about.

"Oh dear..." Mrs. Hudson said wringing her hands together.

"Absolute bell-end!" John growled.

"What's Sherlock done this time?" Mrs Hudson said following behind him and walking straight into the kitchen to make tea.

John paced furiously around the living room.

"He can't even apologize! He can't even admit he wants me to go with him. Can't even remember I like tea not coffee. He's always doing this. Treats me with no respect, like some sort of - some sort of...of sidekick! Like I'll just jolly well nod my head along and allow him to walk all over me and I'm sick of- oh goodness thank you." He stopped his tirade as Mrs. Hudson pushed a cup of tea into his hands.

He sat down heavily, his anger still crackling around him.

"Maybe it would help if you told him these things. You know how dense he can be dear." Mrs. Hudson patted his hand gently.

"Yes perhaps..." John bent his head and pressed it against the mug. The warmth seeping into his already flushed skin.


End file.
